Brother Dearest
by Masaki-Hanabusa
Summary: Canada decides to try being the romantic one for once and plans a dinner for France, but when he comes home that night, he seems something that pushes him too far. M for violence, gore, language. France/Canada, France/Us


A/N: Whoot, getting back into writing mode! Well, this is my first Hetalia story (why did I take so long in writing one?) and I hope you will enjoy it.

I absolutely love Canada a lot, so I wanted to write him a fun story. The pairing in this story is mostly France/Canada, but I actually prefer Prussia/Canada. Maybe I love Prussia too much to do something like this to him.

Anyway, hope you all enjoy and please leave a review! Thank you all so much!

* * *

America was always so inconsiderate. His brother treated him like crap, like he was inferior to him in every way. Every time he tried to speak his mind, he'd shut him in his own obnoxious ways, from methods like talking over him to drowning him out to straight out ignoring him. America was assuming, demanding, showing up at his house uninvited and ordering him around, not bothering to listen to Canada's protests. Sometimes it was more than he could stand. As if yelling would even help any. It wasn't like he was ever heard, seen by anyone.

Canada sighed at the thought of his brother, whose antics had cause him to work late that evening. All the problems he caused, he often had to deal with.

Trying to push the thought out of his head, his mind began to wander to France.

He and France had been together for quite some time by now. He had one who had always seen him, remembered his name. Romancing was always France's role, always planning the dates or making beautiful dinners. But Canada had decided to change things up for once. After all France had done for him, how much he loved the nation, it was the least he could do. Before being called to work that evening, Canada had decided he was going to plan an evening for the two. Keeping his plans to himself, he had made reservations at the best restaurant he knew and then the two would head to watch the latest movie playing at the cinema, a cheesy romance film. France had happily let him go for it, even eager after he said he would not be home until late in the night.

The small blond couldn't help but smile and think how lucky he was as he placed his keys in the ignition. France was the little bit of happiness Canada still had left.

After a half hour drive, Canada saw his house come into view. Suddenly, the smile that had been on his lips became replaced with horror. Attempting to pull into the driveway, he saw his brother's car parked in his space.

There went his romantic night.

Resisting the urge to bang his head over and over again into the steering wheel, the blond sighed and slammed the car door closed. America as usual had not called him to let him know he was coming. Sighing, he unlocked his front door, thinking of what he could say to convince the louder, more irritating twin to leave. It didn't really matter though since he wouldn't hear a single word he said.

Opening the door, he was greeted by something he never would expect.

Silence.

Walking into the front room, he noticed America's things thrown carelessly on his couch. A few old softballs and a baseball bat. The catcher's mitt had fallen onto the floor. Whenever the two played ball, it was one of the few times his brother acknowledged him, though most of the times it was him insulting him on how slow and old he was. And whenever they played ball, America ALWAYS asked a big favor when they were done. Canada had picked up on that rather quickly.

But for some reason, America was nowhere to be seen. Throwing his keys on the coffee table and stripping himself of his coat, he expected his brother, or at least France, who he thought was waiting for him, to come barreling out of somewhere, but still, quiet.

"America? France?" the nation yelled out, no louder than a loud whisper.

'It is late, though. Maybe France just decided to go to sleep?' Canada thought to himself, and headed upstairs to the bedrooms. He pushed his brother out of his mind, praying he wouldn't have to deal with him, and focused on finding his lover. He passed the old guest room without a glance. The guest room was originally France's for when he came to visit him, but after they started sleeping together, the room became unoccupied as France started to sleep in his room. Trying to be as quiet as possible, though not really a problem for him since that was his default volume, he slowly pressed his ear to the bedroom door, trying to hear the soft rustling of the bed sheets as France rolled over in his sleep or the low snores he claimed didn't exist. What he heard was neither.

"F-france!"

He knew that voice immediately, and he did not like it calling out HIS man's name.

Throwing open the door, the Canadian felt physically ill and his eyes felt like they were on fire. He had guessed right on the voice, his brother America indeed writhing with pleasure on his bed, clawing at the bed sheets. But that wasn't what was destroying him from the inside. It was who was on top of him, nipping the other nations neck and thrusting into him.

"France?" the Canadian whispered, looking over to the scene. He did not want to believe what his eyes told him to be true, France cheating on him with his own brother.

"F-FRANCE!" he said louder, feeling his whole world crash apart as he realized that he was invisible now to even France. Hot tears pricked the corner of his eyes. "FRANCE!"

Still nothing but the screams of his brother swimming in ecstasy.

His brother.

His goddamn fucking brother.

He always took what he wanted without giving a damn about anyone but himself. Now he had finally he stole the last thing he could call his and his alone. France's love, his affection. Now even that was gone. His whole body shaking, his mind was consumed with hatred and betrayal, feelings he had never felt so strongly before. Shouting would solve nothing, his voice lost now. Instead, the enraged Canada stormed out of the room and flew down the stairs, back to the living room. Knocking things down onto the floor, picture frames, paperwork, glass, whatever was in his way, Canada proceed to scream and trash his own front room, not used to venting in any other way, except by giving away his rage to the people of his country, often inciting a riot, something he tried to avoid. Grinding his teeth together, he threw the necklace France had bought him for his birthday onto the floor in the shards of glass. He slammed his foot down onto the small piece of metal, again and again and again.

His eyesight, when he got bored with stomping, traveled from the broken shards of twisted metal and glass up to the couch, where his brother's belongings laid.

A few old softballs and a baseball bat.

* * *

"Oh Gog! F-france! I'm going to-" America hollered, blond hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and fingers gripping tightly at France's longer locks.

"M-me as well!" France grunted, passionately kissing the younger nation as the both hit their climax, first America with France only a few thrusts after. Pulling out, the tired Frenchman fell over onto his side, the other curling up against his chest. Neither of them cared enough to see invisible Canada walk back into the room.

Canada brought down the bat with all his strength, smashing in France's skull with only a single hit. Canada loved him more than anything. It was be cruel and wrong of him to draw it out, make him suffer. It wasn't his fault America seduced him.

America.

Looking down at his trembling brother, who was staring at the blood and brains that has exploded over him. He did not deserve the same mercy. He brought the bat up again and with a twisted grin, the younger twin slammed the wood bat down on his brother's leg, the shattering of bone echoing throughout the room alongside America's earsplitting scream of agony.

Swinging the bat now upward, wood met the nations jaw, easily breaking it. Blood ran down his chin, mixing in with his newly sprung tears. A laugh erupted from Canada's lips at the sight of his brother, who was pleading for him to stop.

"Hm? Who are you?" Canada asked, imitating his brother. He brought the bat down once again, now hitting the other in side of the head. America fell back onto the blood splattered bed. In immense pain and confusion, the nation tried to pull himself out of harms way, dragging his body off the bed. He was not successful as Canada smashed the bat against the back of his skull. Again, he brought it down, hitting him in the face and breaking his nose. The older of the nation let out a choked sobbed and a whisper that he couldn't make out.

"Die, you bastard," Canada growled, done with playing around. America tried in vain to cover his head with his arms, but they snapped very easily after a few hits of the Louisville slugger. The loud crack of the nation's skull splitting echoed through the room, blood splattering across the floor. The nation sobbed, tears missing with rivers of blood as he gripped to consciousness with all his strength. Tears only made Canada's cruel grow wider. He brought the bat down again, harder than before. Brain matter and blood exploded everywhere, across the beige carpet, the white walls, over Canada's clothes. The twin looked down at America, and could still feel the anger and rage boiling inside of him. He slammed the bat down again, and again, and again, and again, and again, until finally he felt a wave of happiness and satisfaction wash over him. By then, America's face was no longer recognizable.

Dropping his bloodstained weapon to the floor, Canada sat down on his bed, looking over to France's body. His hair dyed red, the red blood oozing from the back of his head. With a smile, Canada rolled his body over, so that the Frenchman's lifeless eyes could stare at the ceiling. The living blond closed the softly. If one ignore the corpse on the floor, the blood sprayed everywhere, the blood dying the pillow underneath, one might think France asleep. Crawling up the bed to France's side, he rested his head again the cold skin of his chest, wrapping his arm around his middle.

"I love you, France," Canada whispered, closing tired eyes and falling into a peaceful, quiet sleep.

* * *

A/N: Okay just to make things clear, cause I don't think they were, America did not seduce France. America came over to Canada's house to ask for a favor, but France had other ideas. Canada naturally assumed though America must have stolen him.

This was really fun to write. Being under a lot of stress lately, and this is really good to get it out of my system.

Well I hope you enjoyed this bit of violence and please leave a review! They really make my day! Thank you and see you all soon!


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